


Precipice

by talekayler



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-16
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:57:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talekayler/pseuds/talekayler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slow acting curse puts events into motion much quicker then they were meant to be. Time is an intricate thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On the Edge

**Author's Note:**

> All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

_Merlin_ , it hurt.

Harry writhed on the floor, clenching his eyes shut and twisting, trying to get away from the contact. Impossible, he knew, when what he was trying to get away from was himself.

He tore at his clothing, trying to get the fabric away from his skin. It just made his hands hurt more. In desperation, he rubbed against the carpet, hoping the friction would manage to undo the clasps; all it ended up doing was press his robes closer to his body, enhancing contact he didn’t want. He whimpered.

On the edge of his awareness, he was able to distinguish someone speaking as they tried spell after spell. Harry didn’t know what they were, didn’t care. Not when he was far more concerned with trying to get away from his clothes, the fabric of which seemed to burn his skin, the threads brushing against and agitating marks he knew _weren’t_ there.

There was a curse, and Harry felt the vibrations as someone dropped to their knees beside him, saying something about Aurors and slow acting spells and idiots. Harry didn’t care though, clawing at the clasps on his cloak that were far too sturdy, pain shooting thorugh his hands from his efforts. He arched his back, trying to ease the pressure there, trying to get away from the material.

It was like they had been charmed to deliver pain, and Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if that was the case.

But now there were hands, unhooking the clasps and parting the fabric. Harry increased his efforts, clawing at the buttons of the shirt he wore underneath. He managed to rip a fair few off before his arms were caught, the sleeves of his robe catching on his elbows.

He screamed.

He was rolled over, thrashing, and the cloak torn from his back. He could have cried with relief, if there was still too many clothes on him, rubbing against his skin and making it burn, thousands upon thousands of pinpricks.

There was cool air, though, when he was rolled over, right on his chest where he had managed to tear off the buttons there. He tried to focus on that as hands attacked the rest of the buttons, eventually ripping the shirt open and sending the rest of the buttons flying. He was dragged up and his shirt pulled off to be tossed far away. Harry could have sobbed with relief. Instead, he pushed at the waist of his trousers, indicating that those _had_ to come off too.

He had enough presence of mind now to kick off his shoes as his belt was undone. He toed off his socks as the zip of his trousers was lowered, wincing as the material dug in between his toes. He managed to get first one, then the other sock off. His trousers were lowered a moment later, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He pushed at his y-fronts, getting them down to his knees and kicked them off and away from him. Hopefully they landed in the fire.

Harry closed his eyes, gulping down fresh air and feeling whole and pleasantly warm, as if he was on the verge of falling asleep.

“Potter?”

Harry opened his eyes, blinking repeatedly and trying to figure out why his vision was blurry. Ah, glasses. Must be at the other end of the room, lying shattered beside the wall. He distantly recalled throwing them off his face.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice a little gravely. He coughed.

“Slow acting spell,” Draco explained, for that surely must be who was kneeling beside Harry. His clothes were a little rumpled as well, and he seemed to be staring fixedly at Harry’s face. “Turns the clothes of the wearer against them, imbibes them with a spell not unlike a lesser version of the Cruciatus.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Does this mean I have to walk around naked now?”

Despite not having his glasses, he was able to make out Draco’s smirk. Instead of angering him now, as it used to during their school years, it was now a comfort, something Draco only gave to him. It helped that it wasn’t as biting anymore, and held no ill will. “No, just those clothes. Not that I would mind otherwise,” he finished in an undertone. “Anyways, you’re lucky I followed you home, Potter.”

“You always follow me home,” Harry said, and tried sitting up. His head spun and he shot out an arm, grasping onto Draco’s shoulder and trying to keep himself upright. He shuddered.

“Yes, and be glad for it,” Draco said, placing a hand on Harry’s back.

“I am,” Harry mumbled, trying to fight off his dizziness. “Lots of – of good times.”

“You’ve never been naked, though,” Draco said, giving in and dropping his gaze to Harry’s lap. “I like this new change.”

Harry flushed and put a hand in his lap, trying to cover himself. Draco smirked at his efforts and went to fetch a blanket. He tossed it to Harry, who gratefully covered himself, hoping it would fight off the rising shudders. Going over to where Harry’s glasses had landed in a mess of shards, Draco repaired them with a quick tap of his wand and handed them over to Harry.

“Thanks,” he said, sliding them into place.

“Tea?” Draco asked, and moved through to the kitchen.

Harry grumbled as he followed behind Draco on shaking legs and said, “I think I’d prefer something a bit stronger, to be honest.”

Draco sniffed as he sorted through Harry’s cupboards. “The stuff you have here is swill.”

“I still have the bottle you left here after the Morris case,” Harry offered. “And it’s not swill,” he defended.

“Whatever you say. Where is it?” Draco stood on his tiptoes, reaching towards the back. Harry found himself eyeing Draco’s rear, watching as the muscles of his buttocks and thighs worked under trousers that clung perfectly to his form. “Potter?” he asked over his shoulder.

Harry started and tore his eyes away. “Um, next one over.” He gestured and collapsed into a chair at the table, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. The rest formed a puddle in his lap, for which he was thankful.

Draco found the bottle with a muffled ‘Ah-ha!’ and withdrew, looking victorious and clutching a bottle of Mr Snoozewacker’s Finest Blend. He Summoned a pair of glasses and poured a healthy measure in each, setting down the first before Harry. Harry tossed it back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Draco snorted as he sipped his, but refilled Harry’s glass all the same.

The warmth in the pit of his stomach was greatly welcomed. It did seem to be helping a bit with the shudders that occasionally wracked him, and was able to beat them off now. He gulped his second glass and replaced it back on the table with more force then necessary. Draco raised an eyebrow. Harry shrugged, making the blanket slide off of one shoulder. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Perhaps you’re not in the best frame of mind at the moment,” Draco said, examining Harry with a far too perceptive gaze.

“More please,” was all Harry said. Draco rolled his eyes and obligingly topped Harry glass.

They drank in silence after that, no need to fill the quiet with words. Silence between them was comforting, safe. Any words spoken had a habit of either turning into insults or innuendos, and right now, Harry had energy for neither. He spun his glass on the table in a slow circle, watching as the liquid moved slowly against the glass walls that confined it with the motion. His cheeks felt hot from the liquor, heating him from head to toe. He tossed back the last half of his glass.

“I think you need to get to bed, Potter,” Draco said, taking away Harry’s glass. He moved the bottle away as well when Harry made a move for it.

“Not ready for sleep,” Harry said. He stared at where Draco clutched the neck of the bottle, just outside of his reach.

Draco stood and reached out, gripping Harry’s upper arms and dragging him up. “Bed,” he said, and ushered Harry down the hall.

Harry stumbled, tripping over his feet before he managed to steady himself with a hand on the wall. He had to release the blanket to do so, letting it fall to the floor. He heard Draco curse and felt the faint tickle of hair and hot breath as Draco reached down to grab the material. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist and tucked the blanket back around him.

The walk to his bedroom was longer then Harry remembered it being. The bed was still unmade when they reached it, and Harry fell gratefully in amongst the covers, despite what he had said, and curled up on his side.

He heard Draco moving around behind him, but couldn’t make any sense of what he was doing. It wasn’t until Draco had slid into the bed next to him that Harry realised that he had been undressing. His cheeks heated when he realised that he was lying in bed, nearly naked, with a nearly naked – or was he naked? – Draco behind him. Draco pulled the covers over them, on top of the one that Harry was already wrapped in.

“What’re you doing?” he asked. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. He feared he had too much to drink; he was beginning to feel a little over heated.

“If you think I’m leaving, you must be insane,” Draco said, his breath hot on the back of Harry’s neck. “What if something else happened? What if there was another curse that hit you and it hasn’t made itself known yet? If anything,” he said as he wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist, pulling him back into Draco’s chest. Harry’s shudders stopped. “It’s to stop those convulsions.”

Harry closed his eyes. This warmth was better than the warmth provided by Snoozewacker and his silly blend. He shuffled, pushing back into Draco, who tightened his grip.

“You just wanted to get into my trousers,” Harry found himself mumbling, already falling asleep.

“Well, I’ve gotten you _out_ of your trousers,” Draco said. Harry closed his eyes, the rumble of Draco’s voice soothing and easing him to sleep. Whatever Draco said after that, though, Harry doesn’t hear. He’d already fallen asleep.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Harry woke up, the first thing he became aware of was a dull headache. And despite his sweat slicked skin he was freezing cold. He shivered, opened his eyes and looked around blearily for wherever the covers had disappeared to.

What he found though, was _much_ better than covers.

Draco was spread out beside him, all of the covers collected together in a heap half draped across his body, artfully almost, the rest hanging off the far side of the bed. ‘ _Blanket hog_ ,’ Harry thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to seriously care. Draco was tangled in them, sheets twined around his left calf with the corner barely covering his chest, the other end spilling over the side of the bed.

Draco had stripped down to his pants before he had crawled in beside Harry, not naked, as Harry had thought – hoped, even. His pants clung to him like all his clothes did, leaving little to the imagination. Harry could see the outline of morning wood; his mouth watered. He forced himself to look away, instead sliding his gaze up and over the rest of Draco’s body. His chest rose and fell with each soft breath, and Harry was pleased to note there was a little snore with each exhalation. His lips were slightly parted, and Harry found himself staring at them much too avidly. Harry gave himself a mental shake and reached across Draco’s exposed chest for the blankets. He was sleeping in this morning, damnit.

The shift of his weight on the mattress roused Draco, though, and Harry froze, arm outstretched over him with their noses nearly touching. Harry held his breath as Draco blinked his eyes open and focused on Harry, unsure of what Draco’s reaction would be.

“Mmm,” Draco muttered. He still sounded half asleep, mind still caught up in his dreams. “Much worse things to wake up to. Could do something about the hair, though.” He reached up and slid a hand through Harry’s hair, tugging on the ends a little, playfully almost. Harry gasped at the sensation, his head tipping back a little and following Draco’s hand. Draco’s eyes slid closed again, he inhaled deeply and let out a soft moan.

Harry stopped breathing, covers forgotten, as Draco pushed up and rolled Harry over, settling atop of him and straddling Harry’s leg. “Much more real too,” Draco muttered into Harry’s neck.

Harry became aware that he was completely naked when Draco began grinding against him, small undulations of his hips that made Harry yearn to reach out and grab Draco’s arse, bring him closer. “Draco,” he started, and broke off when Draco sucked on his neck. His hands flew to Draco’s arse, the globes of his arse fitting into Harry’s hands like they were made for Harry to hold and squeeze and lick and bite and –

Draco stopped moving, halting so suddenly that he left Harry breathless. He didn’t release his grip on Draco’s buttocks though, and he felt it when Draco tensed, clearly becoming aware that this _wasn’t_ a dream.

“Potter?” Draco huffed, his breath ghosting across Harry’s skin, cool against the spot where Draco had licked him.

“Yeah?” he panted back. His fingers tightened their hold on Draco’s arse.

He heard Draco swallow. Relax and tense and relax again, his breaths rapid and making shivers chase each other across Harry’s neck, down his spine. He could feel Draco’s erection against his thigh, felt it twitch and pulse, felt his own react in a mirror imitation, both of them hot and heavy where they pressed into each other’s.

And then Draco was pulling away, untangling himself form Harry’s hold and that of the blankets still twisted around his ankle. He fell to the floor as the blankets dragged him down in a very undignified manner, most un-Draco like. Harry sat up, head spinning from moving so quickly. “What’re you–”

“Sorry, Potter.” He almost sounded sincere. “Mistake. I didn’t mean to stay for so long or… well, I should be getting back soon, anyways. Mother and all – early morning breakfasts. She insists.” Draco was dressing with quick, sharp movements, avoiding looking over at Harry and keeping his eyes away from the bed altogether. Harry squinted at the clock on his bedside table.

“Draco, it’s quarter after five.” He watched Draco pull on his shirt, buttoning it to the very top. He felt very cold, and he didn’t think it was just the air this time. As Draco looked around, presumably for his cloak, Harry glanced down and spotted the persistent bulge in his trousers. “You’re still hard.”

“Don’t point it out to me,” Draco snapped at him, fists clenching at his sides. Harry blinked, taken aback from the viciousness in Draco’s voice.

“Okay,” Harry said slowly.

Draco closed his eyes, breathing in careful measures and looking as if he was counting n his head. When he turned to Harry, he didn’t meet his eyes, instead looking off over Harry’s shoulder. “Sorry, it’s just I–” He stopped himself and said instead, “I’ll see you at work.”

He turned and was out of the room before Harry could summon words to respond. Harry heard the Floo flare, Draco’s exclamation of his destination, then nothing.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, stunned and head spinning, before he stood, clutching at the bedpost to keep him steady. It felt as if he was moving through molasses as he moved across the room, headless of his nudity, heading down to the kitchen.

Snoozewacker’s Finest was still on the table, accompanied with two glasses, one empty and another half full. Draco’s robe was flung over a chair. It all seemed too normal, making what had just happened all the more surreal.

Harry picked the robe up with cold hands. It was warm, soft and silky against his fingertips.

What had happened?


	2. Over the Edge With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explanations are hard to wrangle out from someone who has no desire to reveal. It takes good luck - and a locked storeroom - get them them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

When Harry appeared in the office – at an obscene time of the morning, mind you – everything was how he remembered it. Their desks faced each other in the generously sized office; Draco’s tidy and neat, Harry’s an organized chaos with bits of crumpled parchment shoved off to the corner. Draco sat behind his desk, calmly writing up a report. His head was bent low, his hair obscuring his face in a way Harry didn’t think was accidental.

“Morning,” he said, crossing the room to his desk. Draco didn’t look up, but he did say something that could be passed off as a cordial greeting.

“Draco,” he said, and Draco shoved back in his chair, standing so abruptly that his chair teetered on its back two legs before falling back into position.

“I found out the curse,” Draco said, rounding his desk and shuffling together a few sheets of parchment. He handed one to Harry. It was covered in Draco’s elegant writing, top to bottom and squeezed in together in a way that made Harry recall homework assignments of Hermione’s. And just like hers, he could make neither heads nor tails of this.

He waved it around. “What is this?”

Draco grabbed the parchment from his hand and smoothed it out over the desk. “This, Potter, is valuable information on _Verto of tela_ , or ‘turn of the cloth’. And it’s exactly what I told you before, if you had listened.” He shot Harry a scathing glance. At another time, in a similar situation, Draco’s look would have been more amused, more ‘ _You just like to hear me speak_.’

Draco sounded weary and irritated at having to explain himself again. “Whatever the victim is wearing at the moment, the curse turns it all against him or her until the objects are removed or the victim goes mad. It had been used as a form of punishment long ago. Most don’t even know what they’ve been hit with.”

Harry leant back against his desk, watching as Draco sifted through parchments and lifted various books. Draco looked over at him eventually, a frown pulling tightly at the corners of his mouth.

“If you think I’m doing your share of the paperwork –”

“What was with you this morning?” Harry interrupted him.

Draco froze for the barest of moments, before he was back to shuffling already perfectly organised papers together. “That’s not really fair, is it?” he continued as if Harry had never spoken. “You still haven’t done the work from when _I_ was out of commission. Two weeks ago, might I add.”

“You left in a right hurry,” Harry said, ignoring him. “You left this behind.” He pulled Draco’s cloak out of his robe pocket, the cloak growing in size as he withdrew it from its safe spot. Draco stopped and turned to face him, his face far to pale.

He reached out for his cloak, but Harry pulled it away from his fingertips. “Why did you leave so quickly?”

Draco’s fingers curled and he his hand dropped to his side. His glare was venomous, and he met Harry’s eyes full force this time. Harry was baffled. How could Draco go from grinding against him to shooting him death glares in the space of forty-five minutes? Of course, there was the little fact that this _was_ Draco.

Draco darted a look off to the door that still stood wide open from Harry’s entrance. “Look, I can’t tell you,” he said hastily, and Harry had to wonder if it was _can’t_ or _won’t_. Harry hadn’t seen him looking this nervous in all the time that they had been partners. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” he said, and strode towards the door, towards an escape that Harry knew that if Draco took, he’d never find any answers.

Harry grabbed Draco’s arm before he got the opportunity to storm out of the room. “Auror partners are supposed to trust each other.” He could feel Draco shaking against where he gripped him. “What did I do?”

Draco jerked away. “It’s not always about _you_. Some things concern more then just you, surprisingly.”

Harry’s arm fell, loose and open at his side as opposed to Draco’s tightly curled fists. “And what? What about all those things you’ve said – that _I’ve_ said?”

“Words are words. It’s the actions that matter.” He was once more avoiding looking at Harry, instead staring at the crumpled balls of parchment that littered the surface of Harry’s desk.

“Then stop running,” Harry told him. Draco’s eyes locked on his.

“A bit too late,” he said. And then he was gone, before Harry could say anything else.

~*~

The office seemed unnaturally cold and silent after Draco’s departure, leaving Harry feeling a miffed. Draco somehow managed to evade Harry when he had gone after him, disappearing down the corridor like a shadow. Avoiding Harry should be impossible, but of course Draco would be able to pull it off.

Harry knew his only chance to get anything out of Draco would be at the Ministry. The quicker he acted, the better chance he had. He didn’t want to give Draco time to come up with something, or to distract him.

There was always one place Draco tended to go in the Ministry when he needed space. Be it an argument with Harry, trying to solve a problem or trying to calm down after a case, Draco always ended up in the potion storeroom. Harry thought it was something to do with familiarity, how potions are always what they are once brewed or distilled, something Draco knew he had stability in.

The door collided with the wall with such force that it caused the phials in the storeroom to shake, the clink of glass on glass a ringing cacophony. Harry didn’t know where Draco was in the vast room exactly, but damned if he was going to allow him an escape rout. He secured the door behind him with wards and hoped that there wasn’t anyone else in the room.

He found Draco towards the back, hunched over a table, palms flat against the surface and his head hanging. It looked as if he had run a hand through his hair one too many times, making it stick up a little in the back. Harry had an urge to reach out and smooth it down.

As if sensing he was no longer alone, Draco spun around. His eyes widened when he saw Harry. “How did you–”

“I know you frequent this place. Just because I never followed you in or talked about it doesn’t mean I don’t notice.”

Draco looked a little surprised at that, before he reverted to an indifferent mask. He turned his back to Harry, fiddling with the potions spread out on the surface of the table. There was a time when Draco didn’t need that mask around Harry. His fist clenched.

“Can you at least look at me when we talk?” Harry hoped it wouldn’t be worse.

Draco turned around and huffed. “What did you want? There’s nothing you need to know or anything that you can change.”

Harry pushed Draco back, corralling him to the other side of the table and pushing him into the wall, standing close so as to not give Draco the opportunity to twist away. “The hell I can’t. You need to tell me what’s going on, because I know it’s not as simple as you’re playing it off as.”

Draco didn’t bother asking _You’re not going to give this up, are you?_ and Harry didn’t think it was necessary to respond with _No fucking way._ Instead, Draco broke eye contact with Harry and stared determinedly at his shoulder.

“Draco, if I have to, I’ll–”

“It was a mistake, alright?” Draco burst out, stopping Harry from saying anything else. “I didn’t think I’d slip like that, or I thought I’d be able to keep control and have things remain the way they have been.”

“Why would you want things to stay the same?” Harry pushed, backing Draco back up against the wall when he tried to wiggle out.

Draco didn’t answer right away, his arms coming up and folding together and Harry could see him pulling away. He clasped a hand on Draco’s shoulder, trying to keep him from retreating.

“Because you seemed fine with the way things were,” Draco said in a quiet voce. “It took this long for us to get this far, and I didn’t want to think on how much longer it would take to get even further, or if it would ever happen. How was I supposed to know if you really wanted it or not?”

“Of course I wanted it,” Harry defended.

“You had just endured an outdated curse, drank copious amount of very fine alcohol and then proceeded to fall into bed nude where you proceeded to feel after effects of said curse. I knew you would be hung over in the morning, and probably dealing with the shock of actually getting hit by a curse. _Invincible Potter_ ,” he sneered. “I wasn’t going to take advantage of you, or allow myself to be used as a one time comfort fuck.”

“A one time…? I don’t think it would have been a one time thing, Draco,” Harry said, and pressed closer. Draco flattened himself against the wall. “Everything indicates it would have been far more then that.”

“Fine, maybe it would have been.” Draco was flushed, his breaths heavy and uneven. Harry watched his tongue dart out and wet his lips. “But even still, there are things to consider.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Harry and he moved forwards, pressing himself to Draco from thigh to chest, and mashed their mouths together. Draco made a startled sound before his hands came up, not to push Harry away like he thought, but to clutch at Harry’s hips. There was a soft moan, and Harry wasn’t sure which one of them it had come from, and neither did he care. He moved away just enough to gentle the kiss, encouraging Draco to open his mouth with teasing flicks of his tongue. In the moment it took Draco to do so, Harry had decided that Draco was thinking too much and that it was his job to make it impossible for them to think.

He used their proximity to rub himself against Draco, rubbing his length over Draco’s thigh, an erection that had persisted from the start of the morning. Draco bucked into it, hands fisting in the robes at either side of Harry’s waist. Harry felt him shift, spreading his feet apart and allowing room for Harry’s thigh to slide in between them. Harry pressed forwards, cupping Draco’s jaw and sliding a hand into his hair, pulling Draco closer. Their mouths moved together easily, and the combination of hot and wet and a taste so completely Draco made Harry want more, made him never want to stop.

He brought them down to the floor of the storeroom, positioning himself above Draco in a reverse of how they had been splayed out shortly before. His hand fumbled with the clasps to Draco’s robe, and then the trousers beneath that, the constant movement of Draco’s hips making it difficult to get the material parted. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss in order to get a look at what he was doing.

Draco’s hands released their hold on Harry’s robe, coming up instead to remove his glasses. He tossed them off to the side, where they landed with a clatter across the room. He then tugged Harry down by his hair, shoving his tongue back into Harry’s mouth. Harry groaned, abandoning his plan for getting Draco’s trousers undone in favour of grinding against him. He could feel Draco growing harder against his thigh, heard the noises he was making in the back of his throat, and lost himself in the sensations.

He leveraged himself up until he was looking down at Draco, his hands planted on either side of Draco’s head. With a slight twitch of his hips, he had Draco arching up to meet him. His head was thrown back, blond hair spilling out over the floor and his eyes were clenched shut, his hands never loosening their hold on Harry’s hair. Harry shifted, flicking the clasp to Draco’s trousers open with ease this time.

Draco reciprocated, undoing the zip on Harry’s denims and biting at his lip, looking as if he couldn’t believe this was really happening. He lifted his hips a little when Harry tried tugging down his trousers, and bucked when Harry snuck a hand under the waist of Draco’s pants.

Draco squeezed his eyes closed again, but Harry wasn’t about to have that. “Look at me,” he said, leaning down to kiss the tip of Draco’s nose. He gently stroked his hand over the length of Draco’s cock, squeezing the base and playing with the foreskin. Draco gasped and looked up at Harry.

“You can’t–”

“I can and I will,” Harry cut him off. He shoved his hips forward, into where Draco still had his hand resting over Harry’s erection. He felt Draco’s hand twitch, applying the barest of pressures. He moved his hips forward again, moving into Draco’s hand and trying to encourage him to move it, match Harry stroke for stroke. Draco got the message eventually, meeting Harry’s stare. He tugged a little Harry’s jeans to lower the material a bit, and shoved his hand in until he was able to grasp a hold of Harry’s cock.

Harry rocked forward, rewarding Draco with a stroke of his own and swiping his thumb over the tip of Draco’s cock. Despite Draco’s hesitations, he stroked in tandem with Harry, all the while trying to lower Harry’s denims.

Harry sat back on his heels to pull Draco’s trousers and pants down until they were tangled around his ankles, then shimmied out of his own clothes. Draco watched him, sitting up on his elbows and staring at Harry, watching avidly as Harry’s cock bobbed in the air. Harry saw him lick his lips, and he grinned.

“Later,” he said, pressing Draco back down. He aligned them up, griping both of their erections in his hand and gave them a rough stroke. Draco hissed and writhed, his own hand coming up and adding his own strokes.

“Potter,” he moaned, his head falling off to the side as he gasped for air.

“No,” Harry said, leaning over and trailing the tip of his nose down Draco’s cheek. He could feel the scrape of stubble, smell the faint cologne Draco wore and the tang of sweat. He skated his hips across Draco’s cheekbone, down the side of his face and nipped Draco’s earlobe. “Harry.”

“H-Harry,” Draco repeated. Harry heard him swallow, felt him tense and relax and shudder under his touch. He tried nudging Draco, trying to get his to turn his face back to centre, back so they were facing each other. Draco moved with him, shoving a hand back into Harry’s hair and tugging, his nails scraping across Harry’s scalp and sending shivers down his spine. Harry moved his hand faster, the both of them arching into the hold he held on their cocks, his hand bumping against Draco’s on every other stroke.

Draco arched into his hold, his hand tugging at Harry’s hair and pulling on the strands until they were panting into each other’s mouths, swallowing each others’ cries as they came.

Harry rolled over so he wasn’t crushing Draco, breathing in deeply and trying to regain his breathing. “Everything will work itself out,” Harry reassured him between pants. “And you’re not going into this alone.”

“Things always tend to work out around you, don’t they?” Draco said, looking over at Harry across the small portion of floor between them.

Harry smiled. “Yeah. I have lots of good luck.”

“I’m not apologising, Potter,” Draco said, and sat up with a groan. He rubbed his neck and proceeded to dig through the pockets of his robe that was spilled around him for his wand. Finding it, he waved it over them, cleaning away their ejaculate and the dust from the floor that had attached itself to them. He wrinkled his nose.

“You don’t have to,” Harry said, standing up and pulling his jeans back into place. “Though you’re a right idiot sometimes.”

Draco glowered at him, but took his hand when Harry offered it. Harry pulled him up, then pulled him close until he held Draco securely in his arms. “Not letting you go,” he breathed into Draco’s ear. He felt Draco shiver from where they touched, felt the tickle of blond hair against his nose.

“Good,” Draco said, after a moments pause. “But we’d better get out of here before someone comes looking or tries to get in here.”

Harry gave a regretful sigh and released Draco. Draco didn’t pull away that quickly though, pressing closer to Harry for just a little bit longer before moving away. “Right,” he said, and headed for the door.

The door didn’t open, though, when Draco tried the handle, nor did it unlock when he cast _Alohomora_ and a number of other spells. “What spells did you use on this door, Potter?” Draco asked, looking back at Harry.

Harry came up behind Draco, pressing against his back as they stared at the door. “Regular locking and warding charms, silencing spells and the like. Why?”

Draco huffed. “Well, whatever you used combined with one of the spells in place on the door already, to keep any explosions contained. We’ll have to wait until one of the wardens comes back and releases the wards. Unless you can undo level eight wards?” He looked over his shoulder at Harry, lifting an eyebrow.

“Um… no. No, not yet.”

“Well that’s just great,” Draco said and smoothed down his robes. “We’ll have to wait for someone to come release the wards.”

Harry looked over at Draco, still a little dishevelled despite his best work. His hair was loose and tangled around his ears, his cloak still a little awry where it clung to his frame. Harry thought he could see a red mark beginning on Draco’s neck, barely being covered by his robe. He grinned lasciviously.

“Want to go again?”

 _fin_


End file.
